


Sons of the Silent Age [Autumn]

by nothingbutfic



Series: A love for all seasons. [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, MWPP-era, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5036989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingbutfic/pseuds/nothingbutfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1979-1980: Remus and Sirius think they know each other, but they don’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sons of the Silent Age [Autumn]

**Author's Note:**

> For Frost. Part 3 of the 'A love for all seasons' series.

Autumn: darker nights and colder days, brisk and full of the dazzle of leaves. Nothing much to do for most people - or wizards - than gather cloaks and coats closely around them, held hard against the London chill. Children seemed to enjoy the leaves, stamping and stomping and crunching, but no one had much time for childish things these days. And so adults turned to other pursuits for enjoyment - chatter, gossip, concern and drink.

Remus Lupin and Sirius Black were gathered together on the sofa and had had rather a lot of wine. The sofa was battered; the house small, barely little more than a bungalow with some weeds dying outside the front door, between a mass of cracked concrete. But it was theirs, and the years were glorious as they were terrible. Remus lived on scraps, bound together by tweed and leather patches. Sometimes James would chuck him a name, and so Remus would dust himself off and tutor some bright young witch or wizard until the rumours caught him again.

And the rumours always caught him again; the wizarding world was a closed box from which nothing, not sense or light or hope could escape. Everyone knew each other, at least as close as second cousins twice removed. With minds as tight as steel traps (and as clearly shut), reputations mattered. They were the only thing that did, in those old, awful, _ancien regime_ days.

So Remus would offer a parting block of chocolate to his charge, if said charge was still allowed to talk to him, was willing to talk to him, or already had their wand out to fend against the dastardly beast that was Lupin, then collected his books and went on his way.

He'd come home, sit himself down on the couch and opened up all the glorious books he'd purloined, begged and borrowed to entice the minds of younger spirits. It became a habit: since leaving Hogwarts, he'd read a lot of books, eaten a lot of chocolate and he'd drunk a lot of wine.

By now, he was the most well read of the marauders by habit if not by inclination. Sirius was preternaturally brilliant, James determined, and Peter got carried along. But Remus read, because there wasn't much else for him to do, and because magical theory intrigued him. As if all the world could be reduced to puzzles and rules and explanations; as if there could be an explanation for _him_ amongst all the books _._

But now he was looking at Sirius with eyes slightly unfocussed from alcohol, and freckled skin gleaming in the firelight, already shifting close, perhaps too close, to his flatmate and best friend. "He said that, honestly? 'You're the best'?"

Sirius, with the smug look that came from having no shame whatsoever, nodded. He drifted between further work-related study, actual jobs, and the Order. he toyed with curse-breaking for six months, then dropped it; considered becoming an Auror, then disdained it- everything lost its lustre for him, except of course his friends. And Remus was his best friend, and nothing more.

"Oh, well, your co-worker is obviously mentally impaired," Remus said dryly, and couldn't help but laugh at the brief look of hurt that flashed across Sirius' face for a second. "Oh, I am sorry," he added, false and almost cooing, a picture of too wide lips and fluttering eyelashes, creeping closer to Sirius' face, "is that what you want me to do every morning? Tell you how wonderful you are?" His hands crept up Sirius' hips and rested there as if it was perfectly natural. "Is that all you want to hear, all day? Who's a good boy?" he crooned, mischievous and a bit mean, perhaps because Sirius was the only one who he could ever afford to be mean to. Like an owner talking to his prize dog. "Who's a good boy, who's the best boy, oh you are, Sirius, you are!"

Overbalancing a little, he nipped at Sirius' neck out of instinct, as playful as they had been when wolf and hound, and Sirius tipped back, instinctually submissive in turn and they both went over.

Remus found himself lying atop his best friend on their battered old couch, unable to look at anything but Sirius' lips for a while. Sirius didn't speak but his breathing was loud and a little fast, ghosting across Remus' lips.

"...You are the best, you know," Remus offered softly, too steeped in good wine and better company not to finally unburden himself. His eyes traced Sirius' face for a reaction, ears hearing his heartbeat, nose wary of any scent of fear or discomfort. "More than that. I could create a whole new language just to give voice to what you mean to me." He knew he sounded drunk, yes, but fond, so fond, and so true.

Sirius had been there for him for as long as he could remember; his brilliance and daring had dragged the others into becoming Animagi. For him. And in turn, Remus had been there for Sirius: to remind him of classes and tests and homework, to calmly inform him that no, three helpings of chocolate cake did not count as a proper meal, especially when you didn't share, tubby, and to be the calm, innocent face who covered for most of their pranks - when he wasn't planning his own. ("It's the freckles, Padfoot. No teacher suspects anyone who looks like me.")

"Moony," Sirius murmured, in a voice that sounded pleased and surprised and certain all at once, looping his arms around Remus' waist. It sounded like encouragement, like _yes_.

Remus knew there was a reason he was a bachelor: it started with 'S', went on like 'ius' and ended with 'ack'. But now he was beginning to suspect there was a reason why Sirius always came back to this shabby little home even if he insisted on dating so many men and women that he appeared to be in a contest with David Bowie. Because this _was_ a home, _their_ home, and even when Sirius got home mostly drunk and well-shagged, Remus would still help him get undressed, ease him into bed, and cook him breakfast the next morning. He patched Sirius up after fights, protected him when he could, and yelled into the air on the back of that bloody motorbike. Remus Lupin was, in short, a groupie for Sirius Black, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Remus didn't even care how many people Sirius shagged, as long as he kept coming home. That was the important thing, especially in these times when not everyone _did_ come home.

"Don't say anything, Pads, you'll spoil the mood," Remus told him, a bit indulgently, tangling fingers in his friend's - was Sirius just a friend? Could Sirius ever _just_ be a friend? - longer hair.

Locking eyes, they both managed to be quiet for a few moments, before bursting into laughter. Then Remus tried to kiss him, still laughing, and Sirius snorted again, sabotaging the kiss.

And then of course the fireplace exploded in green flame and James Potter popped out. Remus all but squawked in fright, grabbing for his wand inside a jacket pocket, and ended up tumbling off of Sirius and onto the floor.  They were both laughing almost hysterically, eyes watering, as James surveyed them with a bit of disdain, and noticed the empty wine bottles lurking near the couch.

"Look, just how drunk are you?"

" _Very_ ," said Remus, and he and Sirius started chuckling again.

"Well, this should sober you up, lads. Lils is pregnant. And you're going to be a godfather, Padfoot."

Remus and Sirius only started laughing harder.

Things changed after that. Oh, they were still close - the little touches remained, Remus' hand on Sirius' shoulder, or Remus yanking Sirius by the belt-loop back from a spell he was trying, but Sirius was mostly busy pestering people to get something in the way of a job now he was a capital-g Godfather in the making, and his commitment to the Order become a passion as he sought to make and remake the world for Harry. Remus still found that Sirius would sometimes just snuggle up to him on the couch as Remus read a book, and putting an arm around him still felt right and good, but that moment were they might have declared something failed to come again.

And in time, Sirius threw himself into the work of the Order in ways that Remus found hard to predict or even understand. And then there was Harry, little baby Harry, and Lily and James and Peter and all of them, at all times, taking shifts to mind or nurse or care. Or simply prop the other up when they were too tired and too weary to do any more.

It was Remus one morning who first raised the issue, in early 1981, over their customary bacon and eggs.

"Harry's bound to become a legitimate target, you know," he said, after Sirius hadn't said anything to him besides a cursory 'morning' upon reaching for coffee.

Sirius looked up from his breakfast and stared at Remus like he was an unwelcome interloper. "What kind of person thinks that of a _child_ , Moony?" he asked, with an undercurrent of anger, and grabbed at his orange juice so that some sloshed over the side.

"Someone who _was_ a legitimate target as a child," Remus said calm and quiet and Sirius subsided.

They ate in uncomfortable silence until the hooting of an owl disturbed them. Sirius got up to see what the message was, and instantly left the kitchen to grab his jacket.

"There's something about a prophecy, I have to go talk to James and Dumbledore..."

Remus nodded, and started to clear the plates from the table. "Do they want me there?"

"It was a full moon two nights ago, Moony. Everyone knows you're clapped out for a while." The excuse sounded plausible, even understanding, but there was something almost too nice about it. Sirius was never that unambiguously kind; even in his care there was always something playful and immature about him. Maybe he was hiding something.

Remus looked at him and remembered he was a Black, once. Remembered what that meant: a family left behind and a brother missing, and an aching gap in his heart that Remus hadn't ever dared to try and fill. Managed a smile that hurt to summon. "Well, don't get yourself killed today. You're cooking tonight, remember?"

"Yes, sir," Sirius grinned, and for a second, it was like it could have been, should have been, and yet it was irrevocably false: the two of them acting as a Sirius-and-Remus who were happy and content, and did not lie to one another.

A few seconds later, Sirius was gone and Remus stood in the empty kitchen. "Maybe one of these days he'll give me a kiss on the cheek as he leaves me here with the dishes," Remus mused to the wall. 

But he never did.


End file.
